


heavy

by aegisadamantine



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegisadamantine/pseuds/aegisadamantine
Summary: Jaren Ward's death undone (?)
Kudos: 1





	heavy

_ Heavy weighs the holy in the unmarked grave.  _

He does not remember dying. He does not know what death  _ is _ , truly. Even as he has fallen again and again, bleeding the same blood as any other who walks the cursed ground. The moments in between always escaped him upon waking. 

This time is different. Still he cannot feel himself, his weight, his purpose, his sense of self is lost to the utter  _ nothingness _ around him. There is no light. There is no dark. As far as he can see, it is.. _ blank. _ It does not invoke panic. It does not invoke fear, or bitterness, or relief. It does not call upon anything. Even as he can look to see his own hands and feet and in a way remember he is real -

As real as the hole in his chest. As real as the Sickness, the poison that crawls into him as blood spills out. It crawls through his veins and he cannot feel it and cannot feel the terror he  _ knows  _ is there, cannot hear the pounding of his heart that rattles the empty space around him. He cannot feel it tearing away his Light, but he can see it pouring away from him anyway. A glittering gold river running down his legs and off his fingers, desperate to escape the decay of his soul as it blackens and turns to ash, pulled away by a wind that is not there. 

When nothing is left of himself he can start to feel it. The Sickness, worming its way into him and pushing him  _ out _ , taking over. And he can only watch as his view slides away, turning into the man who  _ is  _ the sickness. Watches as the empty around him fills with color again and sorrow and the shine of the sun revealing to him his own corpse, lightless eyes and cold limbs. The gun in his hand.  _ The Sickness. _ The poison it wrought, flowing through him. And he cannot let go, no matter how he tries. 

_ Easy is the path that brings sorrow. Hard is the road of the righteous. _

For an eternity, he is the man of his own demise. But he feels nothing. The crave to  _ feel _ gnaws at him. Staring as his blood drains from his own body until it floods the world, comes to his ankles, to his knees, to his chest, hiding who he thought he was and leaving only the rot he held in his hand for him to see. 

And when the ache in his chest subdues. The blood begins to wash away. 

The ground beneath his feet dries. The sickness in his hand decays. He is standing again. Facing himself. When he lowers his palm to his side, a familiar weight is on his hip. 

He pulls out the Last Word. Looks to himself again. But it is not himself. It is Dredgen Yor. 

A single shot rings through his heart and he sits up again, gasping for air. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is for my blog jarenward.tumblr.com because self care


End file.
